I've been at College over a week, but it feels like ages. This has been one of the longest weeks of my life! Adjusting is strange. I have been away from home before, but actually being moved out feels entirely different. Nothing can quite describe how strange it is to know that I will probably never live at home again. That era of my life has ended, and thus has begun the rest of my life. And besides the profound, then there's the nitpicky things... Items such as laundry detergent, dryer sheets, snacks and cleaning supplies that I once took for granted I now find myself carefully budgeting for on my shopping list at Walmart. I have to clean the bathroom mirror, wipe down the counters, and haul my laundry down to the basement... and not forget to leave my clothes there, because this isn't my laundry room at home.
My way of life has changed, too. You pick up many little things. Like the fact that the ability to sew in College is a commodity. So is having a vehicle. Get to meals early otherwise there won't be any plates, fruit or plastic cups for tea left. Everything else seems to take precedence before the word "sleep" can even make it into your vocabulary.
Sometimes I am overwhelmed. Wesleyan is academically rigorous, and although I haven't been in classes even a week it feels like I have already plunged neck-deep into 3 months worth of work. I have two years of college experience but Wesleyan is quite unlike Valencia in every way imaginable. The Professors are much more in-depth, and expect so much more, than many of my Professors at Valencia did. Everyone here is so bright and focused that as a student here you feel the need to strive and work the hardest that you can.
My schedule is filled, it is insane. It's not necessarily that I'm taking more classes - I'm actually taking far less than I'm used to this semester - but the way they are spaced, classes all 5 days a week, makes my schedule very tight. Add in work study, study, managing a business, homework, mealtimes, Diabetes, me-time, exercise, balancing friends and relationships, and my excellent time management skills have suddenly been sent reeling.
I am still getting to know people... and adjusting to the concept of doing so. My homeschooling background combined with my shy nature and my time at Valencia as the baby in all my classes had previously culminated in a rather socially isolated lifestyle for me. I kept a group of immeasurably close, tight-knit friends from Smith Prep (My Homeschool-Highschool) and few others. Now I have left my friends behind, the ones who I had grown up with, bonded with, spend years growing comfortable with. I am surrounded by strangers, people I have never met. It is strange to let myself open up, shake off the shyness, and share my life with those I don't know. And I don't quite know what I'm looking for in people. I have made some great friends here at Wesleyan so far, but... I just feel... a little cut off. I talk to a lot of people, but rarely do I feel as if I get the opportunity to talk about myself. Is it selfish to feel that way? I hope not. I feel as if I am bursting at the seams with things to say, but few to listen. Rarely have I ever shared my life with others, but it used to be because I didn't want to. Now I want to, but will others listen? Will I bore them with my thoughts, my worries, my frustrations, my joys, my stories? Would they ever even want to ask questions about me? Sometimes I just wish someone would come up to me, introduce themselves, and ask me how I am. How I really am.
I would tell them about my Diabetes. How difficult it is when so few people can truly understand what having a chronic disease in life - and most particularly in College - is all about. How I carry glucose tabs in my backpack and carefully calculate all the carbs in my food before I eat. How I prefer to eat my carbs rather than drink them, and how sore my fingertips get when I prick them in the same place with the lancet too much. How it sucks to feel like the world is dizzily turning upside down as you suffer from a low while the whole world looks on and thinks that there is nothing wrong. I would show them my Medical ID Bracelet, which rests in its place on my left wrist always. I would tell them about my family back home, about my mother and my father, about life growing up in Florida. Why I chose Wesleyan and why I chose to leave Orlando, Florida behind for the seemingly lackluster in comparison city of Macon, Georgia. I would tell them how I love experiencing the seasons, the joy I get from seeing hills and mountains, the satisfaction of being able to drive somewhere in less than 20 minutes. I would tell them my testimony, my stories, my roots. I would tell them about my best friends, my boyfriend, the people I love. I would tell them my favorite things to do, like sitting in the library with Libris the cat, going on adventures and seeing new places, listening to music, and dancing in the rain. I hope that there will be those who will ask.
Life is different now, more so than it has ever been before. I love it, it is wonderful, and God's work is apparent everywhere. It'll take time to adjust to this new place, but I'm confident that, in time, Wesleyan will begin to feel like home.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
On My Toes (Diabetes in College)
Let me start this post off with a self-congratulatory-note of... I am finally all moved in!
The past two days have been rough on me physically, though. I've been doing so much walking, and non-stop activity, that I have had several bouts of hypoglycemia ever since arriving. My insulin needs are certainly much lower, considering the level of activity I'm experiencing in college, and thus until I catch on I need to keep a close eye on my blood sugars.
I first arrived at Wesleyan on Saturday, eager to get into my room and start moving in! I had already picked my dorm in one of the two freshman residence halls on campus (Banks Hall). When I went up to the desk to get my room keys, however, I was told that my keys weren't there yet and that they would be momentarily. After some further conversation I learned that my dorm had been switched to the upperclassman dorm Hightower Hall, because I had too many credits to be allowed to stay in the freshman dorms. I was a little disappointed not to be with the rest of my freshman class, but apparently in the time between then and Summer Orientation, Wesleyan had received my final transcript from VCC and made me a Junior. So, determined to make the best of it, I drove over to the Hightower parking lot and started unloading some of my bins, elated to finally be able to arrange my room and make it my own.
I carried items in, walked out, in, out, heave, push, pull. Suddenly my legs felt weak from underneath me. I ignored it for a while, too occupied to want to pay my attention-demanding Diabetes any mind, but soon it became too much to handle. My head swam through a Diabetic-induced fog and I had broken out in a cold, skin-drenching sweat as my heartbeat raced 200 miles an hour. The world spun around me. I tested my blood sugar as I collapsed on my truck's seat. The meter stared back at me, 35. I was overwhelmed by the low, incapacitated. I breathed heavily as I sat in the heat, scrambling for my glucose tabs, granola bars, fruit cups, whatever little snacks I had left. I shoveled them into my mouth frantically, trying to stave off the low. It took nearly 30 minutes to recover, during which the heat outside as I sat in my truck made little impression on me as I tried to keep calm and gain back my strength. I bit back bitter frustration. Before Diabetes moving in would have never been such a problem...
I took a break for lunch in the cafeteria, and afterwards Donnie and Jake came by to help me unload the heavy stuff. I was so grateful as I was able to sit back and give myself much needed rest. They did in 30 minutes what would have taken me all day to do, which was haul all of the stuff from my truck into my new room.
I carried items in, walked out, in, out, heave, push, pull. Suddenly my legs felt weak from underneath me. I ignored it for a while, too occupied to want to pay my attention-demanding Diabetes any mind, but soon it became too much to handle. My head swam through a Diabetic-induced fog and I had broken out in a cold, skin-drenching sweat as my heartbeat raced 200 miles an hour. The world spun around me. I tested my blood sugar as I collapsed on my truck's seat. The meter stared back at me, 35. I was overwhelmed by the low, incapacitated. I breathed heavily as I sat in the heat, scrambling for my glucose tabs, granola bars, fruit cups, whatever little snacks I had left. I shoveled them into my mouth frantically, trying to stave off the low. It took nearly 30 minutes to recover, during which the heat outside as I sat in my truck made little impression on me as I tried to keep calm and gain back my strength. I bit back bitter frustration. Before Diabetes moving in would have never been such a problem...
I took a break for lunch in the cafeteria, and afterwards Donnie and Jake came by to help me unload the heavy stuff. I was so grateful as I was able to sit back and give myself much needed rest. They did in 30 minutes what would have taken me all day to do, which was haul all of the stuff from my truck into my new room.
The next morning, as I hovered the line between sleep and wakefulness in my bed, my body suddenly sat up with a jerk. I grabbed my meter and tested with shaky hands. 45. I hurried and ate the remainder of my snacks but grew worried about if I happened to have another low. There was no breakfast on Sunday, just brunch at 12. I recovered and then grabbed my car keys, walked outside and then went over to my car. I drove to the Kroger right down the street first, a walk I would have enjoyed if I didn't have to worry about my being so low. I grabbed granola bars, two different packs of rice cakes, and oatmeal creme pies (my secret addiction, shh, don't tell my Diabetes.) I checked out and then drove to Walmart to get cheaper deals on soda, and decided to try Diet Sundrop, which is actually super delicious. I munched chocolate rice cakes on the way back to Wesleyan to appease my growling stomach and returned in just a few short moments to the school. I spied a large group of girls gathered next to Banks Hall (right across from my hall) in their pajamas. Confused, I wondered if there was something on the schedule that I'd missed. I later learned that the girls in the freshman dorm Wortham had woke up to a fire alarm, something I had been very glad to miss!
I hauled in my grocery bags, put the items in the minifridge, and went on with my day. I did not bolus for a SINGLE MEAL that day and yet I was still running on the low side. That evening after all of the events of the day I tested to find an unexpected 46. I hurriedly ate three rice cakes (33 carbs) and waited 15 minutes. I felt even worse, and tested again. 46. The rice cakes hadn't even made a dent in my apparently copacetic blood sugar. I knew perhaps I should wait a little longer but I went to the hall kitchen and popped popcorn (26 carbs), collapsed on the cold linoleum floors and waited in the kitchen as it cooked. I took it back to my room to inhale. The damage afterwards: A BG of 201. But that was better than 46. I gave myself 19 units of Lantus that night instead of 21 to hopefully stave off any more hypos.
But this morning I awoke, shaking, to once again find a BG of 46 (can anyone say "magic number"?), and thanked Christ for rice cakes as I ate more. I sighed. Thankfully, though, 19 units of Lantus has seemed to work just perfect so far, and it might be that all of my insulin needs have returned back to my pre-summer levels. In which case, I'll keep slowly backing off on my insulin until I find the correct balance again. Diabetes is keeping me on my toes this first week of college!
But this morning I awoke, shaking, to once again find a BG of 46 (can anyone say "magic number"?), and thanked Christ for rice cakes as I ate more. I sighed. Thankfully, though, 19 units of Lantus has seemed to work just perfect so far, and it might be that all of my insulin needs have returned back to my pre-summer levels. In which case, I'll keep slowly backing off on my insulin until I find the correct balance again. Diabetes is keeping me on my toes this first week of college!
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Herbal Incense
Well, 4 months of long and wonderful Summer have culminated down to this: Wesleyan Move-In week.
Being the procrastinator I am, I waited until the week of move-in to get that mandatory physical done for school.
June
Mom: "Have you got that physical done yet?"
Me: "Mom, jeez, it's a small town. I can just walk in any time if I want to."
July
Mom: "So... did you book that physical yet????"
Me: "No. Come on, I still have plenty of time until school starts."
August
Mom: "GET YOUR *ooh shiney* PHYSICAL."
Me: "OKAY"
So finally I booked an appointment 2 weeks ago and then went on my merry way.
Tuesday I drove 12 miles out to Barnesville, GA to go to the Doctor's office. I arrived at a pretty two story Victorian home sitting in the middle of a classically southern downtown. With plenty of time to spare, I filled out my paperwork, and settled down to wait with a new book to read in hand.
"Lacy?" A nurse pokes her head out of the office door.
I turn my head. "So, since you're under 17... I can't give you this physical."
Fire shoots out of my eyes.
"I'm two months away from being 18. I just need someone to sign the paper, and my mother does not have an issue with me getting this physical."
"Well, I'm sorry. Unless she is here with you, I legally cannot do anything for you."
"My mom is in Florida."
"You moved here all by yourself?"
"Well yeah..... I'm going to college this week.... And moving in, unless I can't get this physical, in which case I will not be and that will be a problem."
"The only thing that you could do is get an adult to come with you, and then get your mom on the phone saying that she is authorizing temporary guardianship to them during the duration of your appointment."
Is it just me or does the ENTIRE MEDICAL SYSTEM derive joy from making my life difficult?
I sigh, frustrated. "Alright then... I'll be back."
I step outside and whip out my cell phone in a flash, dialing Laurie Kuckuck's number. The phone dials and she picks up. "Hey mamabird... problem. THE DOCTOR SAID I CAN'T GET MY PHYSICAL AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND---AND--- SHE SAID I NEED AN ADULT TO COME WITH ME OR ELSE I CAN'T GET IT AND---"
"Come pick me up, I'll go with you."
I sigh in relief and tell her I'll be there in a moment. 15 miles later and a pit stop by the house to remove the massive computer sitting in a bin on the passenger seat, I arrive at Heritage Healthcare, pick up the Mamabird and then drive another 12 miles back to Barnesville. Mileage for the day: 45. Not even 10am yet, my hulking V8 truck's gas gauge protests by deciding not to work ... it absolutely refused to stay on "Full".
We arrive back at the Doctor's and thankfully it was rather simple from there. Sign paperwork, get my mom on the phone, and go to the back where I got my physical done. Everything seems to be healthy with me with the exception of my chronic and life-threatening disease. I pay my $30 and am just relieved to have everything over with.
Mamabird and I decide to take a look around Barnesville to check out houses and Gordon College. (No, I've never heard of it, either.) Jake is planning on attending Gordon in the Spring and wants to see about renting a house in the area instead of staying in the dorms.
We are surprisingly successful. Within a few minutes we're on the phone with a man who introduced himself as Dan and directs us to the correct address of his 5 bedroom rental home.
The house doesn't exactly lack curb appeal but the grey duplex certainly wasn't the fully renovated Victorian located on the other side of the street, which maybe made it look a little bit more shabby than it was. However, after viewing the kitchen, the living room with the blue carpet, and the upstairs bedroom with the magenta carpet that the man was renting out for $550 a month, I was pretty convinced that the only redeeming feature of the house was the fact that it was not a cardboard box. However, at least a cardboard box would have smelled like cardboard instead of smelling like old. Yes, old.
Maybe I was just being picky... honestly the house wasn't that bad. Laurie and I were just convinced that the price was entirely too high, as he charged rental per room. We stepped into another crowded room and I glanced down at the coffee table, where I noticed some suspicious looking bags filled with green plants. Is that Marijuana?? I though questioningly. Dan then mentioned that he owned another house in Barnesville which he would rent out for $450 a month. The entire house. Mamabird looked at each other as we drove across the street, following Dan to the next house. "He's renting out the entire house for $450?" Laurie exclaims. "Oh dear God, if he's renting out single rooms for more than that then I'm scared outta my mind to see this house," I retort. We cross the railroad tracks. "Oh this is not good... we've crossed the tracks!" Laurie notes.
For future reference, in case you were wondering, no. The grass is not greener on the other side of the railroad tracks.
We pulled up to a navy blue house. "Is that it?" I asked. "Ugh..." It wasn't a very nice house.
Curveball.
Dan's truck pulls past the navy blue house with the pimped out station wagon in the back, and up to a dinky tan house right behind it.
Laurie and I exchange worried looks.
We step up the cracked concrete steps, and past the painted plywood outdoor walls to the inside. It smells musty.
"I'm in the process of putting new appliances in the kitchen," Dan says.
He shows us the bedrooms, which actually, given the house, were a decent size. I wouldn't take a shower in the bathroom unless it was ripped out, demolished and completely redone though (I've been watching way too much HGTV lately).
"Well... it has potential," Laurie says. Dan laughs. "It that supposed to be a negative comment?" "Well, it's $450 a month. That's that," She tells him. Which was true, considering the price, beggars couldn't really be choosers. "I'd sell you the house for $30000," Dan told her, all the while I was thinking, "Heck, I wouldn't even buy the place for $10000." I could see absolutely no way that that house had absolutely any potential at all.
We checked out Gordon College and drove around looking at all of the pretty Victorian Homes, and finally returned back to Forsyth.
On the way back, Dan called to tell us that if we noticed the plants on the coffee table, no, they were not marijuana, they were, in fact, herbal incense.
Being the procrastinator I am, I waited until the week of move-in to get that mandatory physical done for school.
June
Mom: "Have you got that physical done yet?"
Me: "Mom, jeez, it's a small town. I can just walk in any time if I want to."
July
Mom: "So... did you book that physical yet????"
Me: "No. Come on, I still have plenty of time until school starts."
August
Mom: "GET YOUR *ooh shiney* PHYSICAL."
Me: "OKAY"
So finally I booked an appointment 2 weeks ago and then went on my merry way.
Tuesday I drove 12 miles out to Barnesville, GA to go to the Doctor's office. I arrived at a pretty two story Victorian home sitting in the middle of a classically southern downtown. With plenty of time to spare, I filled out my paperwork, and settled down to wait with a new book to read in hand.
"Lacy?" A nurse pokes her head out of the office door.
I turn my head. "So, since you're under 17... I can't give you this physical."
Fire shoots out of my eyes.
"I'm two months away from being 18. I just need someone to sign the paper, and my mother does not have an issue with me getting this physical."
"Well, I'm sorry. Unless she is here with you, I legally cannot do anything for you."
"My mom is in Florida."
"You moved here all by yourself?"
"Well yeah..... I'm going to college this week.... And moving in, unless I can't get this physical, in which case I will not be and that will be a problem."
"The only thing that you could do is get an adult to come with you, and then get your mom on the phone saying that she is authorizing temporary guardianship to them during the duration of your appointment."
Is it just me or does the ENTIRE MEDICAL SYSTEM derive joy from making my life difficult?
I sigh, frustrated. "Alright then... I'll be back."
I step outside and whip out my cell phone in a flash, dialing Laurie Kuckuck's number. The phone dials and she picks up. "Hey mamabird... problem. THE DOCTOR SAID I CAN'T GET MY PHYSICAL AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND---AND--- SHE SAID I NEED AN ADULT TO COME WITH ME OR ELSE I CAN'T GET IT AND---"
"Come pick me up, I'll go with you."
I sigh in relief and tell her I'll be there in a moment. 15 miles later and a pit stop by the house to remove the massive computer sitting in a bin on the passenger seat, I arrive at Heritage Healthcare, pick up the Mamabird and then drive another 12 miles back to Barnesville. Mileage for the day: 45. Not even 10am yet, my hulking V8 truck's gas gauge protests by deciding not to work ... it absolutely refused to stay on "Full".
We arrive back at the Doctor's and thankfully it was rather simple from there. Sign paperwork, get my mom on the phone, and go to the back where I got my physical done. Everything seems to be healthy with me with the exception of my chronic and life-threatening disease. I pay my $30 and am just relieved to have everything over with.
Mamabird and I decide to take a look around Barnesville to check out houses and Gordon College. (No, I've never heard of it, either.) Jake is planning on attending Gordon in the Spring and wants to see about renting a house in the area instead of staying in the dorms.
We are surprisingly successful. Within a few minutes we're on the phone with a man who introduced himself as Dan and directs us to the correct address of his 5 bedroom rental home.
The house doesn't exactly lack curb appeal but the grey duplex certainly wasn't the fully renovated Victorian located on the other side of the street, which maybe made it look a little bit more shabby than it was. However, after viewing the kitchen, the living room with the blue carpet, and the upstairs bedroom with the magenta carpet that the man was renting out for $550 a month, I was pretty convinced that the only redeeming feature of the house was the fact that it was not a cardboard box. However, at least a cardboard box would have smelled like cardboard instead of smelling like old. Yes, old.
Maybe I was just being picky... honestly the house wasn't that bad. Laurie and I were just convinced that the price was entirely too high, as he charged rental per room. We stepped into another crowded room and I glanced down at the coffee table, where I noticed some suspicious looking bags filled with green plants. Is that Marijuana?? I though questioningly. Dan then mentioned that he owned another house in Barnesville which he would rent out for $450 a month. The entire house. Mamabird looked at each other as we drove across the street, following Dan to the next house. "He's renting out the entire house for $450?" Laurie exclaims. "Oh dear God, if he's renting out single rooms for more than that then I'm scared outta my mind to see this house," I retort. We cross the railroad tracks. "Oh this is not good... we've crossed the tracks!" Laurie notes.
For future reference, in case you were wondering, no. The grass is not greener on the other side of the railroad tracks.
We pulled up to a navy blue house. "Is that it?" I asked. "Ugh..." It wasn't a very nice house.
Curveball.
Dan's truck pulls past the navy blue house with the pimped out station wagon in the back, and up to a dinky tan house right behind it.
Laurie and I exchange worried looks.
We step up the cracked concrete steps, and past the painted plywood outdoor walls to the inside. It smells musty.
"I'm in the process of putting new appliances in the kitchen," Dan says.
He shows us the bedrooms, which actually, given the house, were a decent size. I wouldn't take a shower in the bathroom unless it was ripped out, demolished and completely redone though (I've been watching way too much HGTV lately).
"Well... it has potential," Laurie says. Dan laughs. "It that supposed to be a negative comment?" "Well, it's $450 a month. That's that," She tells him. Which was true, considering the price, beggars couldn't really be choosers. "I'd sell you the house for $30000," Dan told her, all the while I was thinking, "Heck, I wouldn't even buy the place for $10000." I could see absolutely no way that that house had absolutely any potential at all.
We checked out Gordon College and drove around looking at all of the pretty Victorian Homes, and finally returned back to Forsyth.
On the way back, Dan called to tell us that if we noticed the plants on the coffee table, no, they were not marijuana, they were, in fact, herbal incense.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
When Life Gives You Lancets
Don't you just hate it when the first prick decides to bleed only after you've already pricked a second time??
Oh well, when life gives you lancets, don't just make finger pricks... make smiley faces!
Have a happy Sunday, everyone!
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Living With Diabetes Isn't Easy... Thankfully, Complaining About It Is
If I had a brand new beta cell for every time somebody told me, "I couldn't do that" in response to my telling them about having Diabetes, I would no longer have Type 1 Diabetes.
I do not know why people tell this to me. Do they think that it makes me feel better? Is it pity? Sympathy? Just a nice way to say, "Man, I'm so glad I don't have to deal with what you do"?
It does not make me feel better when people say this to me. It does not make me feel like a superior human being in the fact that I handle Type 1 Diabetes. It does not make me glow with self-satisfaction. It makes me feel separate from "normal" people. It makes me feel like I'm some nerdy freak who actually enjoys counting every single carb of the food that goes into my mouth, saying no to alcohol and testing my blood sugar multiple times a day. In fact, it really just make me want to strangle whoever it is who just said that to me and say, "Don't you understand??"
Still, I have to be fair. If someone had actually sat me down and explained to me the life of a Type 1 Diabetic before I ever got diagnosed, it is very likely that I would have said the very same thing. I couldn't do it. Needles were my biggest fear in the entire world. I could imagine no worse fate than to have ever gotten diagnosed with such a needle-loving disease. The one time somebody tried to test my blood sugar I ran screaming through the house at the top of my lungs until they finally gave up and left me in peace. And if I had known the bigger picture, that there is so much more to Type 1 Diabetes than just testing one's blood sugar and giving injections, I don't think I could have ever possibly fathomed having to cope with such a formidable illness.
But Diabetes didn't care about my inhibitions. For some reason forever unbeknownst to me, I was one of the few destined to have a faulty pancreas. It was not a choice - it just was. Which leads me to my point: saying I couldn't do it to living with Diabetes, to me, is an illogical statement. It doesn't matter whether or not you think that you could do it. The fact of the matter is, choosing to live a life with Type 1 Diabetes is not an option. It was both the hardest and simplest choice that I ever had to make: Life, or death.
Diabetes is a terrible disease. I never wanted to have to live with Diabetes. When I was in the hospital, I spent a long time thinking to myself, sure, living with Diabetes was possible, but what kind of life would that be? Was it one truly even worth living?
And you know what? It was. Life became immeasurably harder than I could have ever imagined, but I had been given only one life to live, one life to make the best of, and I couldn't let Diabetes ruin that for me.
I didn't choose a life with Diabetes, it chose me. Counting my carbs, giving myself daily injections, keeping glucose tabs on hand for lows, handling the physical, mental and emotional turmoil of an incurable disease, testing my blood sugar often, attempting to act the part of a pancreas in the place of the one that failed me... it's all part of the inconvenience that I must now deal with in order to enjoy the things that other people without my illness can enjoy. I will never get used to my life with Diabetes, nor will I ever enjoy the burden that it places on my shoulders. But I have adapted, and accepted, my condition - when before, if faced with the same obstacle, I would have never thought that I could. There is something about having Type 1 Diabetes that makes you realize how fragile and weak of a person you are; it happens when you must deal with the reality of your mortality so often on a daily basis. But having Diabetes, and conquering it, also teaches you valuable lessons and makes you so much more of a stronger person than you were before. Diabetes has completely changed my life, has changed my personality, has changed so many things about the person that I once was. But not all in bad ways. Diabetes has shown me that I can do things that I never thought that I could. It places fear in my life but gives me the strength to conquer my fears. Type 1 Diabetes has shown me that if something truly matters to you, it doesn't matter what stands in your way. You'll face it; if only to be able to hold on to that one precious thing that you treasure so dearly which, for me, is life.
Life with Type 1 Diabetes is harder than a life without, but I think that if others were faced with my disease, they would make the same choice that I did: which is to not only survive with Diabetes, but to thrive.
I do not know why people tell this to me. Do they think that it makes me feel better? Is it pity? Sympathy? Just a nice way to say, "Man, I'm so glad I don't have to deal with what you do"?
It does not make me feel better when people say this to me. It does not make me feel like a superior human being in the fact that I handle Type 1 Diabetes. It does not make me glow with self-satisfaction. It makes me feel separate from "normal" people. It makes me feel like I'm some nerdy freak who actually enjoys counting every single carb of the food that goes into my mouth, saying no to alcohol and testing my blood sugar multiple times a day. In fact, it really just make me want to strangle whoever it is who just said that to me and say, "Don't you understand??"
Still, I have to be fair. If someone had actually sat me down and explained to me the life of a Type 1 Diabetic before I ever got diagnosed, it is very likely that I would have said the very same thing. I couldn't do it. Needles were my biggest fear in the entire world. I could imagine no worse fate than to have ever gotten diagnosed with such a needle-loving disease. The one time somebody tried to test my blood sugar I ran screaming through the house at the top of my lungs until they finally gave up and left me in peace. And if I had known the bigger picture, that there is so much more to Type 1 Diabetes than just testing one's blood sugar and giving injections, I don't think I could have ever possibly fathomed having to cope with such a formidable illness.
But Diabetes didn't care about my inhibitions. For some reason forever unbeknownst to me, I was one of the few destined to have a faulty pancreas. It was not a choice - it just was. Which leads me to my point: saying I couldn't do it to living with Diabetes, to me, is an illogical statement. It doesn't matter whether or not you think that you could do it. The fact of the matter is, choosing to live a life with Type 1 Diabetes is not an option. It was both the hardest and simplest choice that I ever had to make: Life, or death.
Diabetes is a terrible disease. I never wanted to have to live with Diabetes. When I was in the hospital, I spent a long time thinking to myself, sure, living with Diabetes was possible, but what kind of life would that be? Was it one truly even worth living?
And you know what? It was. Life became immeasurably harder than I could have ever imagined, but I had been given only one life to live, one life to make the best of, and I couldn't let Diabetes ruin that for me.
I didn't choose a life with Diabetes, it chose me. Counting my carbs, giving myself daily injections, keeping glucose tabs on hand for lows, handling the physical, mental and emotional turmoil of an incurable disease, testing my blood sugar often, attempting to act the part of a pancreas in the place of the one that failed me... it's all part of the inconvenience that I must now deal with in order to enjoy the things that other people without my illness can enjoy. I will never get used to my life with Diabetes, nor will I ever enjoy the burden that it places on my shoulders. But I have adapted, and accepted, my condition - when before, if faced with the same obstacle, I would have never thought that I could. There is something about having Type 1 Diabetes that makes you realize how fragile and weak of a person you are; it happens when you must deal with the reality of your mortality so often on a daily basis. But having Diabetes, and conquering it, also teaches you valuable lessons and makes you so much more of a stronger person than you were before. Diabetes has completely changed my life, has changed my personality, has changed so many things about the person that I once was. But not all in bad ways. Diabetes has shown me that I can do things that I never thought that I could. It places fear in my life but gives me the strength to conquer my fears. Type 1 Diabetes has shown me that if something truly matters to you, it doesn't matter what stands in your way. You'll face it; if only to be able to hold on to that one precious thing that you treasure so dearly which, for me, is life.
Life with Type 1 Diabetes is harder than a life without, but I think that if others were faced with my disease, they would make the same choice that I did: which is to not only survive with Diabetes, but to thrive.
Kudos to my father for not only that last line, but for inspiring me to live, even with the struggle of having Type 1 Diabetes.
(And thanks to my awesome mom, too, who helped me learn how to kick Diabetes in the butt!)
(And thanks to my awesome mom, too, who helped me learn how to kick Diabetes in the butt!)
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Cheating Diabetes
Diabetes is very smart. It always seems to know just when I try to cheat it. I decided to eat a 26 carb oatmeal cream pie as my 15-30 grams of carbs snack? Great, let's just make life difficult for Lacy and throw in a 203 BG. Oh, oh, you wanted ramen noodles for dinner because you're a poor college student? Guess again, Diabetes don't care how poor you are. 255!
Diabetes is also a raging hypocrite. I decided not to Bolus for my shell-less taco salad from QDoba? Come on, that guac had some carbs in it. But my BG is a perfect 92 afterwards. I decided to have a 32 carb apple for snack? Won't even send my BG over 120. A non-bolused for steak dinner with vegetables? It somehow seems to break some sort of unsaid law that my BG would be 82, 2 hours later.
The conclusion I have is thus: Having Type 1 Diabetes is not easy for a College Student. The dilemma is the fact that I have limited funds and thus minimal access to healthy foods. A hamburger is 99 cents, yet a salad on the same menu is $6. Apples and peaches are $1.25 a pound, and yet an entire box of Zebra Cakes is $1.50. So how do I manage my Diabetes well, eating healthy food whilst surviving on a small budget? Well, some of the times, I fail. That is the first thing that I have had to come to terms with. Sometimes, no matter how well I attempt to manage my Diabetes, my blood sugars will not always be what I want them to be. But this doesn't mean that I'm necessarily set up for failure forever. There is some wiggle room for success in there somewhere. Over the past few months I have compiled a couple of tips to add to my Diabetic Survival Guide.
1.) Minimize snacking with 0 carb drinks.
This is a big one for me. I am a snacker, always have been and always will, and my eating habits can often be compared to that of a small bird. I don't necessarily eat much, but I like to munch on all kinds of things. Cookie Dough, lunch meat, peanut butter, you name it - not much is safe from me in the kitchen, or from on somebody else's plate. I've had an extremely hard time combating my snacking habits ever since getting home from the hospital in April. My solution? Drinks. They are both a great way to stay hydrated and prevent mindless snacking. Soda was one of the easiest things for me to give up since getting Diabetes. I was never much of a soda drinker, and liked to try other, healthier alternatives. Thankfully, this was and is easy because there are many other options open to someone watching to lower their sugar/carb intake. Over the past few months I have become something of a drink connoisseur, perusing the store isles looking for new anti-snack weapons. Amongst my favorites are these:
Diabetes is also a raging hypocrite. I decided not to Bolus for my shell-less taco salad from QDoba? Come on, that guac had some carbs in it. But my BG is a perfect 92 afterwards. I decided to have a 32 carb apple for snack? Won't even send my BG over 120. A non-bolused for steak dinner with vegetables? It somehow seems to break some sort of unsaid law that my BG would be 82, 2 hours later.
The conclusion I have is thus: Having Type 1 Diabetes is not easy for a College Student. The dilemma is the fact that I have limited funds and thus minimal access to healthy foods. A hamburger is 99 cents, yet a salad on the same menu is $6. Apples and peaches are $1.25 a pound, and yet an entire box of Zebra Cakes is $1.50. So how do I manage my Diabetes well, eating healthy food whilst surviving on a small budget? Well, some of the times, I fail. That is the first thing that I have had to come to terms with. Sometimes, no matter how well I attempt to manage my Diabetes, my blood sugars will not always be what I want them to be. But this doesn't mean that I'm necessarily set up for failure forever. There is some wiggle room for success in there somewhere. Over the past few months I have compiled a couple of tips to add to my Diabetic Survival Guide.
1.) Minimize snacking with 0 carb drinks.
This is a big one for me. I am a snacker, always have been and always will, and my eating habits can often be compared to that of a small bird. I don't necessarily eat much, but I like to munch on all kinds of things. Cookie Dough, lunch meat, peanut butter, you name it - not much is safe from me in the kitchen, or from on somebody else's plate. I've had an extremely hard time combating my snacking habits ever since getting home from the hospital in April. My solution? Drinks. They are both a great way to stay hydrated and prevent mindless snacking. Soda was one of the easiest things for me to give up since getting Diabetes. I was never much of a soda drinker, and liked to try other, healthier alternatives. Thankfully, this was and is easy because there are many other options open to someone watching to lower their sugar/carb intake. Over the past few months I have become something of a drink connoisseur, perusing the store isles looking for new anti-snack weapons. Amongst my favorites are these:
(As well as plain Diet Coke and Coke Zero products)
This much underrated Diet drink is one of the best and most normal tasting I have tried so far.
This one unfortunately is always very difficult for me to find but it one of my favorites.
So, you see, there are many low carb options available whether you're just tired of plain water or would like to try something new and healthy for a change. These options are relatively inexpensive, last a good while, and are great to both minimize the amount of food you eat *and* help me control my blood sugars even better!
2. Eggs
Perhaps this second tip seems strange to you, its being in a category all its own. However, eggs have become so important to me that I feel as if they deserve their own paragraph dedicated solely to their greatness. Eggs have literally been a Diabetic lifesaver for me. The perfect College staple. Now before you go all Diabetes-Police on me and tell me how bad it is for my cholesterol to eat several eggs a day, hear me out. I am of the belief that just because you eat high cholesterol foods, that doesn't necessarily mean that it is going to make your cholesterol high. Smoking gives me a greater risk of cardiovascular problems than eggs do. Eating a sugary cereal is going to have a worse effect on my blood sugar than nutrient-filled eggs. It's always felt wrong to me to limit the consumption of something so simple, healthy and natural as an egg. In fact, there are few studies that can prove that one or two eggs a day have any negative affect on your cholesterol levels. And why the heck would I go through all the trouble of trying to remove the yolk from the egg and only eat the white? Then I'm left with a pitiful excuse for a meal and practically no egg!
The benefits of eggs are thus: they fit into my budget at $1.67 for a dozen large eggs at Walmart, they are full of protein and other good nutrients, and they keep me full and feeling satisfied longer than other less healthy foods. Furthermore, there are so many options for eating eggs! You can make omelets, boil, scramble or fry them, make an egg sandwich, put them in salad, or eat them with toast covered in cinnamon and truvia. Eggs are the best!
3. Lists
When I make lists, my life falls into place. Lists help me keep my life in order and, if you know Diabetics, you know that our whole life seems to be about creating order out of faulty pancreas-induced chaos. Keeping some kind of structure in my life has always been important to me, but since my diagnosis it has become more important that ever. I keep a planner with a list of daily things to do, monthly engagements, and goals. One of the first items that will go in my dorm is a white board and bulletin board to hang important things and make a list of important priorities. I keep a schedule - either on paper or in my head - of meal times, snack times, insulin/medication times, and of course, class times. I make lists of my favorite meals and snacks in order to feel as if I have more options to choose from when eating, such as:
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The benefits of eggs are thus: they fit into my budget at $1.67 for a dozen large eggs at Walmart, they are full of protein and other good nutrients, and they keep me full and feeling satisfied longer than other less healthy foods. Furthermore, there are so many options for eating eggs! You can make omelets, boil, scramble or fry them, make an egg sandwich, put them in salad, or eat them with toast covered in cinnamon and truvia. Eggs are the best!
3. Lists
When I make lists, my life falls into place. Lists help me keep my life in order and, if you know Diabetics, you know that our whole life seems to be about creating order out of faulty pancreas-induced chaos. Keeping some kind of structure in my life has always been important to me, but since my diagnosis it has become more important that ever. I keep a planner with a list of daily things to do, monthly engagements, and goals. One of the first items that will go in my dorm is a white board and bulletin board to hang important things and make a list of important priorities. I keep a schedule - either on paper or in my head - of meal times, snack times, insulin/medication times, and of course, class times. I make lists of my favorite meals and snacks in order to feel as if I have more options to choose from when eating, such as:
Tomato Sandwiches
Eggs, of course!
Most any form of sandwich
Chocolate rice cakes. 60 calories and 12 carbs, and great with peanut butter or strawberry cream cheese!
Low Carb and in their own bag, so I don't overeat.
Peanut Butter and Bananas is healthy, delicious and filling. Haven't tried it with bread yet but I bet it'd make a great sandwich!
Only 100 calories and 21 carbs... Josh even agrees these are delicious, despite their being "healthy" foods.
4. The Subtle Art of Exercise
I have gone through many exercise-healthy phases in my life both before and after being Diabetic, most notably when I used to run 10 laps around the track at the school behind my house every day all Summer long. Conversely I also go through phases of sluggishness when I do not wish to exercise at all. This Summer is one of these such sluggish phases, which has not gone unnoticed by my Blood Sugars. But I can't just be a couch potato all day, even with the insane heat outside as my cover-up excuse. Trips to Walmart, whether to grocery shop or just to gallivant and add items to Joshua and I's wishlists, is a great way to get out of the apartment and lower my blood sugar. Taking Coein the Beagle on walks to explore the area around Statesboro is another great way to fit in some exercise. Laundry, vacuuming, washing dishes, moving furniture and other household chores make the Diabetes Gods smile upon me. Swimming is both a great way to work on my tan and get exercise. So, even if I am not necessarily running on the treadmill, I can still manage to fit some activity in and keep my blood sugars in check.
Keeping a tab on my Diabetes can be tough during the lazy months of Summer. Hopefully, with practice and a list of good habits, I'll be able to succeed... and if not, well, no pressure. Summer's end is right around the corner.
Keeping a tab on my Diabetes can be tough during the lazy months of Summer. Hopefully, with practice and a list of good habits, I'll be able to succeed... and if not, well, no pressure. Summer's end is right around the corner.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Taking Time To Stop and Smell The Insulin
"I'm hungry," Joshua leans over and tells me as we lounge on the couch watching television. It's 101 degrees outside and feels like 150, and it's all we can do to escape the heat by not going out into it at all. My stomach growls in agreeance as we sit and ponder our options. I get out my CalorieKing book to count carbs for all of the local food joints, reading out the options available to two poor college students. "Let's see... Arby's isn't too bad on carbs. A regular roast beef sandwich only has 37 carbs," I tell him. "Yeah, but I don't like that guy on the Arby's commericial!" I laugh. "Okay then. There's Sonic, Krystal, Moe's, Taco Bell... Chick Fil A... I add, hopefully - being a homeschooler for several years having rendered me a loyal Chick fil A addict for life. Joshua doesn't share my enthusiasm for Eat More Chikin. Instead he gasps the name of the one place even I hold above Chick Fil A: "Zaxby's!", he exclaims.
We arrive at Zaxby's during what was apparently the entire city of Statesboro's lunch hour; contrary to Orlando, there was only about one of each restaurant in the city, versus multiple ones on the same street as I was used to back home. Thus, the drive-thru and restaurant were packed. We were not deterred, though. We found parking for my truck in the back and weaved our way between drive thru cars to get inside. It smelled wonderful. I usually get the sweet and spicy buffalo wings but opted for a daring change by getting Teryaki buffalo wings instead, and a Diabetic-friendly unsweet tea. The thing that I love about Zaxby's is that, besides the awesome food, there is one fact that stands to make it even better: The buffalo chicken wings have only 8 carbs! In turn, I can indulge in my Zaxby-loving basically as often as I like as long as it is not Birthday Cake Milkshake season, which, alas, it is no longer.
Joshua nabs us a table and I excuse myself to the restroom to wash my hands and test my blood sugar. It is 115 despite my 30-carb, non-bolused for granola bar snack an hour and a half earlier and I smile happily. Zaxby's and great blood sugar? What more could I ask for!
I chug my unsweet iced tea with fervor and sidle over to the drink counter to refill. Our order is called, I grab a heap of napkins for my spill-prone self and a couple for Joshua, and sit down at the table. I eye the new chicken a little speculatively but decide it still looks delicious. The group of two people in front of us Joshua coincidentally recognizes because they often stop by the gas station where he works. Joshua and I are beginning to think that he knows practically everybody in Statesboro due to his job. So far he's met a locksmith who made me a spare key to the apartment, a nice College guy who invited us to the local Church in Statesboro, and several of the cops who frequent the 301 on dark Friday evenings (thus we know all of the speed traps in town). Joshua gets into a coversation with them while I "do my thing" -- My Diabetes thing, that is. I know that I don't necessarily have to bolus for my chicken due to its low carbs, but I decide to be good and give myself a unit to cover myself. By now I don't even think twice about pulling my insulin pen out of my purse and giving myself a shot. I am oblivious to onlookers and what they might think of me. Crack Hoe? No. Heroin addict? Guess again. Just your friendly neighborhood Diabetic, people. I give myself a shot in my arm and wince as it bleeds a little more than I'd like. "Ouch," I remark to Joshua. "It's left a bruise again." It hurt, but this wasn't too unexpected. If I ever bruise from my insulin shots, it's usually on my arm, where there is less fat than on the rest of my body. Yesterday, on the other hand, I accidentally gave myself an insulin shot too fast (despite Joshua's warning me) as I was in a hurry to grab my vanilla ice cream cone from the server at Sonic. Serves me right, I suppose. I now had an unsightly black bruise on my stomach to attest to my impatience. Luckily this bruise was only sore and a shade of lovely light blue; very difficult to notice even despite my failed attempts at tanning my pale, pale skin.
I swipe a french fry from Joshua's plate while he is distracted (I'm a grazer - he expects it by now) and dig into my chicken, which proves to be delicious. Joshua's friend remarks on my insulin shot and Joshua tells him I am Diabetic. Type 1, of course. I love having Joshua around to explain my situation for me when all I want to do is eat my food in peace... not talk about my frustrating illness. The man was very polite and earnest though, and I found that in his case I did not mind. We went on to discuss my troubles with Health Insurance and Medicaid. I also gave the websites of two places where you could buy college textbooks for really cheap to his friend, who was starting at Georgia Southern in the fall. The lady next to us, who worked at the hospital, chimed in about how difficult the health insurance companies could be. And then perhaps the icing on the cake was when an older man with greying hair came up to me. He said, "Excuse me, miss. I couldn't help - well, I couldn't help but notice you giving yourself an injection." I glance at my insulin pen, suddenly remembering how strange it must seem to other people, this glimpse of a world that most do not even ever pause to think about. A shy looking red haired girl comes up next to him. "Are you Diabetic?" He asks. I smile a little sadly and nod. "Type 1." He tells me, "My daughter was just diagnosed with Type 1. In April." I cannot help but mention that I, too, was diagnosed in April. "How old are you?" I inquire, and she tells me she is 13. "I'm 17," I say. "It came late for me," I remark, my eyes reflecting the tiniest fraction of pain. "Still on injections?" I ask her. She nods. I smile and say, "Me too. It's definitely not easy," I tell her, my eyes filled with respect for this young girl who fights with the same monsters and struggles of this disease that I do.
The father and his daughter leave, but I cannot help but feel comforted. She is one of the few Type 1's that I have ever met. I hate the fact that others must suffer with this disease, I really do. If my getting Diabetes has kept some other individual from getting the disease instead, then I will gladly bear this burden all of my life in their place.
But sometimes it's just simply so uplifting to stop and be reminded that in this lifelong fight I am not alone. And once more, in spite of the struggle it has become merely to remain alive each day, I am thankful.
* Note: Insulin smells disgusting, by the way. I highly recommend that you don't actually try and smell it.
We arrive at Zaxby's during what was apparently the entire city of Statesboro's lunch hour; contrary to Orlando, there was only about one of each restaurant in the city, versus multiple ones on the same street as I was used to back home. Thus, the drive-thru and restaurant were packed. We were not deterred, though. We found parking for my truck in the back and weaved our way between drive thru cars to get inside. It smelled wonderful. I usually get the sweet and spicy buffalo wings but opted for a daring change by getting Teryaki buffalo wings instead, and a Diabetic-friendly unsweet tea. The thing that I love about Zaxby's is that, besides the awesome food, there is one fact that stands to make it even better: The buffalo chicken wings have only 8 carbs! In turn, I can indulge in my Zaxby-loving basically as often as I like as long as it is not Birthday Cake Milkshake season, which, alas, it is no longer.
Joshua nabs us a table and I excuse myself to the restroom to wash my hands and test my blood sugar. It is 115 despite my 30-carb, non-bolused for granola bar snack an hour and a half earlier and I smile happily. Zaxby's and great blood sugar? What more could I ask for!
I chug my unsweet iced tea with fervor and sidle over to the drink counter to refill. Our order is called, I grab a heap of napkins for my spill-prone self and a couple for Joshua, and sit down at the table. I eye the new chicken a little speculatively but decide it still looks delicious. The group of two people in front of us Joshua coincidentally recognizes because they often stop by the gas station where he works. Joshua and I are beginning to think that he knows practically everybody in Statesboro due to his job. So far he's met a locksmith who made me a spare key to the apartment, a nice College guy who invited us to the local Church in Statesboro, and several of the cops who frequent the 301 on dark Friday evenings (thus we know all of the speed traps in town). Joshua gets into a coversation with them while I "do my thing" -- My Diabetes thing, that is. I know that I don't necessarily have to bolus for my chicken due to its low carbs, but I decide to be good and give myself a unit to cover myself. By now I don't even think twice about pulling my insulin pen out of my purse and giving myself a shot. I am oblivious to onlookers and what they might think of me. Crack Hoe? No. Heroin addict? Guess again. Just your friendly neighborhood Diabetic, people. I give myself a shot in my arm and wince as it bleeds a little more than I'd like. "Ouch," I remark to Joshua. "It's left a bruise again." It hurt, but this wasn't too unexpected. If I ever bruise from my insulin shots, it's usually on my arm, where there is less fat than on the rest of my body. Yesterday, on the other hand, I accidentally gave myself an insulin shot too fast (despite Joshua's warning me) as I was in a hurry to grab my vanilla ice cream cone from the server at Sonic. Serves me right, I suppose. I now had an unsightly black bruise on my stomach to attest to my impatience. Luckily this bruise was only sore and a shade of lovely light blue; very difficult to notice even despite my failed attempts at tanning my pale, pale skin.
I swipe a french fry from Joshua's plate while he is distracted (I'm a grazer - he expects it by now) and dig into my chicken, which proves to be delicious. Joshua's friend remarks on my insulin shot and Joshua tells him I am Diabetic. Type 1, of course. I love having Joshua around to explain my situation for me when all I want to do is eat my food in peace... not talk about my frustrating illness. The man was very polite and earnest though, and I found that in his case I did not mind. We went on to discuss my troubles with Health Insurance and Medicaid. I also gave the websites of two places where you could buy college textbooks for really cheap to his friend, who was starting at Georgia Southern in the fall. The lady next to us, who worked at the hospital, chimed in about how difficult the health insurance companies could be. And then perhaps the icing on the cake was when an older man with greying hair came up to me. He said, "Excuse me, miss. I couldn't help - well, I couldn't help but notice you giving yourself an injection." I glance at my insulin pen, suddenly remembering how strange it must seem to other people, this glimpse of a world that most do not even ever pause to think about. A shy looking red haired girl comes up next to him. "Are you Diabetic?" He asks. I smile a little sadly and nod. "Type 1." He tells me, "My daughter was just diagnosed with Type 1. In April." I cannot help but mention that I, too, was diagnosed in April. "How old are you?" I inquire, and she tells me she is 13. "I'm 17," I say. "It came late for me," I remark, my eyes reflecting the tiniest fraction of pain. "Still on injections?" I ask her. She nods. I smile and say, "Me too. It's definitely not easy," I tell her, my eyes filled with respect for this young girl who fights with the same monsters and struggles of this disease that I do.
The father and his daughter leave, but I cannot help but feel comforted. She is one of the few Type 1's that I have ever met. I hate the fact that others must suffer with this disease, I really do. If my getting Diabetes has kept some other individual from getting the disease instead, then I will gladly bear this burden all of my life in their place.
But sometimes it's just simply so uplifting to stop and be reminded that in this lifelong fight I am not alone. And once more, in spite of the struggle it has become merely to remain alive each day, I am thankful.
* Note: Insulin smells disgusting, by the way. I highly recommend that you don't actually try and smell it.
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